


stitch by stitch i tear apart (if brokenness is a work of art)

by phoenixjean



Series: sweet distant things [5]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Break Up, F/M, the obligatory five times one time fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixjean/pseuds/phoenixjean
Summary: You don’t want to fight with him. You never wanted to fight with him, but it feels like you’re suffocating under the weight of things that don’t work about the two of you, and you’d swear you were never this incompatible before. Funny how things work out like that sometimes.





	stitch by stitch i tear apart (if brokenness is a work of art)

**Author's Note:**

> five times you and alex were never alone and one time you were except the angst got away from me whoops

It was supposed to be just the two of you. It’s not, but it was supposed to be. You smile tightly at Alex across the room, across the sofa that is now too full of your boyfriend’s friends to fit you next to him. He smiles tensely, apologetically back at you.  _I’m sorry_ , his eyes say.  _I forgot you wanted it to be just us. I’m sorry_. Your hands are cold as you twist and untwist the hem of your sweater, another mechanical smile pulling at your lips. The movie on but it’s just background noise for you.  _It’s fine_ , you’ll tell Alex later.  _It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. We’ll have time for us another night. Maybe you’ll remember it when you’ve had a less stressful week_.

Maybe he will.

He probably won’t.

You don’t want to fight with him. You never wanted to fight with him, but it feels like you’re suffocating under the weight of things that don’t work about the two of you, and you’d swear you were never this incompatible before. Funny how things work out like that sometimes.

The movie plays on and you keep twisting and untwisting the hem of your sweater and stare blankly at the TV screen as you think of ways to avoid fighting when the others all leave for the night.

* * *

Raven is waiting by the door, hovering with tension evident in her face as you stare evenly back at Alex. You can feel the uncertainty radiating from her and you know she doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to have to be seeing this. It’s not her fault she’s seeing it, though.

“Alex, I told you. I can’t do tonight. I’ve been telling you all week that I’d be busy with the work function tonight.” Your chin is raised defiantly and you refuse to back down or to show the slightest sign of weakness. He sets his jaw and exhales slowly.

“It’s another party. Do you have to go to another party with the same twenty something people you’ve already met a hundred times-” he starts and you fold your arms.

“Yes, I have to be there, Alex. I have to go. I even asked if you wanted to go when it was first organised and you said no. Which is why Raven is coming instead of you,” you remind him, a little too sweetly for the apology in your tone to be genuine.

There’s a pause that echoes sharply, like something is fracturing, breaking irreparably. Something is changing between the two of you and you don’t want to think about it right now, so you just smile tightly and move to kiss his cheek and say “Another night, baby. I appreciate that you wanted time for just the two of us. Another night.”

You can feel him watching you as you turn on your heel and make to leave, taking hold of Raven’s arm as you let the door swing shut behind you.

* * *

“So, how are you two?” The question hangs in the air, like bait in the water as the shark circles below, just out of sight. You risk a quick glance at Alex, offering him the chance to answer first, unsure just how much of the damage the two of you are willing to reveal to the other people at the party. He meets your gaze and then as suddenly as if a switch has been flicked, he smiles brilliantly and turns back to meet Betsy’s eyes.

“We’re great. Things have been busy lately, what with work and everything, but we’re both doing fine, if a bit tired.” You’ve only met her once or twice before. She’s Warren’s girlfriend and she’s just trying to be polite. She wouldn’t have known just how loaded the question she posed was. Alex can feel the way your hand tightens slightly on his arm, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way his smile flickers slightly, can feel the way his arm tenses briefly. The well-practiced façade of ‘fine’ is tired. Is run down. Is barely believable.

The room is suddenly far too full and you wish you hadn’t come to this party. You don’t even know who’s hosting. Someone from Alex’s work. Someone you’ve probably met before, but can’t remember. Maybe if you remembered who was hosting, you wouldn’t be fighting with Alex like you are-have been. Alex’s body temperature has always run high, but right now his arm is ice cold under your touch, and you feel so distanced from yourself that you might as well be floating miles above everyone else.

The rest of the crowd is unaware of the tension rising between you and your boyfriend, but you feel it’s sharp talons dig into your spine and you know they’ll stay there until you’re home, until the wave breaks and the latest fight begins.

* * *

You’re tired-so unspeakably tired. You’re sitting in bed, staring at a book you thought you wanted to read and wishing you were somewhere else. You can hear the faint murmur of Alex’s voice in the next room, the low answering hum of Hank’s voice in response, but you can’t make out the words. You don’t think you want to. The exhaustion radiating through your body makes you feel like you’re sinking down into the mattress and you’re hovering right on the edge of dreamless, weary oblivion, but sleep isn’t overtaking you fast enough to outrun your thoughts. You don’t know when loving him got this hard. Because you do still love him, but these days, it doesn’t feel like loving him is enough to make things work for the two of you.

You haven’t fought much lately. It feels like you’re both tiptoeing delicately around each other, hoping that the feigned peace will last, hoping that if you pretend for long enough it might become real again. It won’t, and you both know it, and right now you’re too tired to let yourself cling to a false hope. Your hands are numb as you set your book aside and you shift onto your side, pulling the covers up to your chin and wondering idly if things could have been different.

Doesn’t matter now, though. Things aren’t different. Things are bad and you and your love and your exhaustion are caught right in the middle of it all. There’s a low sigh from the other room and you hear Hank say sympathetically “I’m sorry,” and you wish you didn’t know what he was apologising for, but you do. Or at least, you can guess. And you know it’s not Hank’s fault.

* * *

You sit back against the sofa in the coffee shop, warming your hands against your mug of hot chocolate as you tune out the voices of Sean and Angel, chatting idly beside you, your gaze fixed on Alex’s back as he waits in line for his coffee. It’s bittersweet as he glances back and smiles at you. You feel like you’re standing on thin, cracking ice, and there’s a pit in your stomach that reminds you of falling. You’re tired and so is he. The carefully engineered veneer of ‘fine’ is fractured almost beyond repair and you know your friends are all treading delicately around the both of you. The looks of sympathy from the others is almost more painful than knowing that sooner or later, you’ll have to call this whole thing off.

The hot chocolate burns your tongue a little as you take a sip and you wonder absentmindedly if Alex can feel the end looming over the two of you as clearly as you can. He glances back at you again, and the flicker of something desperate in his eyes tells you he can. Maybe that’ll make it easier. Maybe it’ll feel more like falling asleep than drowning when you both finally let go. You wonder if it would hurt less if you blamed him for it all. Even if it might, you can’t find it in you to put all of the blame on him. It’s your fault too.

* * *

The room is empty, except for the two of you and it feels like the walls might cave in. He’s right there but there might as well be a million goddamn miles between the two of you. You could reach out and touch him if you wanted to, but you’re afraid that if you try, your hand will pass right through where it looks like he’s standing. It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real. You force yourself to meet his gaze, dragging your own from your feet, your head feeling like it’s full of cement.

“Yeah. I get it. We-it-yeah.” The words slip numbly from your lips, and you’re barely paying attention to your actions. “I understand, Alex. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s the furthest thing from okay, but trying to hold on, trying to prolong this would only make it worse. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are distant and glassy and you wonder if you look like that. Worse, probably.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice is low and hoarse and a little desperate. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you.” His words are like a final plea for you to stop this, for you to reach out and take hold of him and pull him back to shore. You know that’s how he feels because you feel the same way. But you know this has to be over. It’ll hurt, but if you cling to this broken love you’ll only end up hating each other. You take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

“I’m sorry too. I hope-I hope we’re both happier after this.”  _This is the grown-up thing to do,_  you tell yourself.  _This is the right thing to do_. It feels like you’re letting go of the safety raft, letting yourself drift aimlessly into the dark current. “I love you. I want you to be happy. And being happy means we have to call this off.”

Letting go feels a little like drowning, a little like falling asleep. It’s different to how you thought but it doesn’t hurt any less. You smile sadly at him and reach out to squeeze his hand. He’s real. His fingers flex under your touch and he lets out a long, shuddery breath. “Yeah,” he says almost inaudibly. “This needs to be over, doesn’t it?”

Your smile has jagged edges and you can feel your head slipping under the water, safety slipping from your grip.

“Yeah. It does.”


End file.
